


Maestros

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't only musical sparks that fly when struggling classical pianist Gold and recently discovered piano talent Belle French meet in a live television show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Having all but forgotten about the cameras rolling around him, Gold is seething. His anger is primarily directed at Jefferson, host of the talk show  _The Mad Hat_ , who is currently sitting opposite him to film an anniversary episode of his live television show.

Gold considers Jefferson his friend, or at least, he thought he did... but that was before he persuaded him against his better judgment to appear as a guest on his ridiculous show, all the while failing to mention that unknown pianist Belle French would make an appearance as well.

"So Belle, can you tell me something about your life? From what I understand, you still work a regular, full time job."

Gold doesn't listen to what the young woman at his side says in response to Jefferson's question. He may feel betrayed by one of the few people he might consider a friend, but he takes offense to Belle French more than anything else.

She may consider herself a classical pianist – Jefferson referred to her as a YouTube talent, whatever that means – but there's nothing about her that deserves such description.

Whereas Gold himself is dressed in an impeccable three piece suit of the sort he always wears, whether he has an audience or not – whether he can still actually afford it or not – the woman next to him is wearing a flimsy excuse of a dress which looks like it comes straight out of a thrift store and which is clearly two seasons out of fashion.

Worse, she possesses none of the gravitas and solemnity a person of her profession should, carrying herself with a lightness and cheerfulness that would annoy him in anyone, let alone in someone who claims to be in the same profession as he is.

On top of that, she... well, she looks like she should be in front of a camera full time rather than behind a piano. There's no doubt in Gold's mind that the so-called pianist has only made it so far because she's so incredibly, unfairly beautiful.

The worst of it all probably was when she unabashedly told Jefferson some five excruciating minutes or so ago that she can't even read notes, that she only plays by ear and intuition... and that she practices less than half of what he does each day.

It doesn't matter that he has never even heard her play. She isn't what a classical pianist is supposed to be like, and that's the end of it.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Jefferson continues, "but from what I understand you haven't been offered a recording deal yet. Is that true?"

"That's true, yes," French replies, smiling at the host and the cameras in what she surely hopes is an appealing way, but which isn't fooling him in the slightest.

 _Nor are you going to be offered a deal, not when even_ real  _pianists can barely make a living these days_ , Gold thinks, zoning out during the rest of her response.

"I wish you all the best, Belle," Jefferson concludes, addressing the woman warmly. "It isn't an easy business, as Mr. Gold here attests, but I have no doubt that you'll find a way."

Gold can only stare at the man he once considered the closest thing he had to a friend. He came here against his better judgment, for even he can't deny that he  _needs_ the positive media attention. He should have known better than to expect that Jefferson would actually help him, rather than to use him, to promote this starlet at his expense.

Still, it turns out that the most unpleasant of tonight's surprises is yet to come.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Jefferson exclaims, turning towards the studio audience and the cameras which aid the live broadcast of the show. "As part of the hundredth episode of  _The Mad Hat_ , I have a very special surprise for you. To showcase their extraordinary talents, Miss French and Mr. Gold will partake in a piano battle. It'll be up to  _you_ to decide who of these two pianists is the most talented."

While Jefferson beams at the camera, two pianos are rolled into the studio, accompanied by the sound of a drum roll of all things. Gold can only watch on in horror, wondering if Jefferson truly intends to take what's left of his pride and squash it with one of his crazy hats by letting him play, compete even, with a slip of a woman who can't have more than a mere fraction of his experience and hard-won skill.

It's a small consolation that, judging from the look of shock on her face, French didn't know about this in advance either.

"The rules are simple," Jefferson continues, addressing both the live audiences and the two bewildered pianists. "Each of you will play for one minute at a time in turn. You're free to play whatever you like... choose that what you're best at, I'd say. You can play existing pieces or improvise, it's completely up to you."

He looks at the two pianists as if seeking their approval for a moment, but continues before Gold can tell him exactly where to put the whistle that Jefferson retrieves as he continues to speak.

"I'll signify that your turn is over by blowing on this whistle. The other pianist starts to play for a minute as soon as they hear the whistle. I mark the end of that minute by blowing the whistle again, which is when the other pianist begins playing again, and so on. In the end, you'll play for one minute together, simultaneously. When it's over, the audience will decide who of you played the best. Mr. Gold here will start, being the more...  _established_ of the two of you."

The way he pronounces 'established', Jefferson may as well have said 'old' or 'has-been'.

"Miss French, Mr. Gold, please take your seats," Jefferson says, gesturing at the two pianos standing now opposite one another in the middle of the studio.

"Jefferson," Gold hisses, beyond caring who might hear him. "Haven't you tortured me enough? I'm not going to do this, not with anyone, and especially not with some flighty teenager who can barely reach the keys."

"This is your one and only chance, Gold," Jefferson urgently whispers right back to him, covering his microphone for a moment. "I'm doing you a favor. Show the world what you're worth before it has forgotten about you entirely."

Not convinced at all, Gold turns around, fully intending to walk off stage as quickly as his bad leg will let him... only to find French right behind him. Judging from her hurt expression, she heard exactly what he just said to Jefferson about her.

It's a good thing then that he couldn't care less about her precious, no doubt fragile  _feelings_.

"Please, Mr. Gold, what's the harm of it?" she asks quietly, addressing him directly for the first time. "Personally, I'd love to do this battle with you. You've been my inspiration for as long as I can remember. It would be an honor and a pleasure to play with you."

Those revelations are food for thought to say the least, but that's not what captures his attention. To his bewilderment, she places her hand on his lower arm as if to persuade him or to get through to him, or something else along such a nonsensical line. Her touch is warm and gentle, and entirely uncalled for – inappropriate, even, for as far as Gold is concerned.

" _Fine_ ," he growls in response, snatching his arm away as if she has burned it. "If you insist..."

She just made it personal. No matter how humiliating it will be for him to play with a pianist with doubtlessly only marginal abilities, he feels now compelled to show  _her_ , rather than the audience, who the truly talented player is.

"Excellent," Jefferson beams, guiding them towards their places after all. "Let's get started straight away. Prepare yourselves!"

Gold snarls at the woman opposite him as both of them settle behind a piano. French turns out to be yet a bigger fool than he already thought when she  _smiles_ at him of all things.

"Mr. Gold, are you ready?" Jefferson inquires, putting the ridiculous whistle between his lips and retrieving an over the top fob watch from his pocket rather than determining whether his supposed friend is actually ready to start playing – which he'll probably never be. "You can start in three, two, one... go!"

Fully intending for this to be over as quickly as possible and aiming to play French right under the piano she can barely look over before it can even come to the audience vote which Jefferson has planned, Gold throws everything that he's got at her from the very first note.

He chooses the darkest and most demanding piece he has ever played throughout the more than three decades of his career, music she has no doubt never even heard of before, all the while looking her straight in the eyes with the most intimidating sneer he can muster.

Having forgotten all about the cameras surrounding them, he is bewildered to find that French still smiles at him for a reason he'll probably never know, for a reason that can't possibly make sense. After all, there's no way that she can possibly  _like_ being in this situation with him.

It seems like hardly a moment has passed before the shrill sound of the whistle indicates that his minute is over and that it's French's turn to play now. Gold relaxes slightly, looking smugly at the woman opposite him. There's  _no way_  that she can get anywhere near the quality of what he just played.

He's somewhat surprised that she doesn't even try to mimic his music, instead opting to go for a light, almost upbeat melody that he has never heard before. And that's the last rational thought he has for quite some time.

Only vaguely aware that her technique is very good but not nearly as flawless as his own, Gold is taken aback completely regardless by the music that she plays. He can't put his finger on it, but it's captivating, enchanting, the lightness of her music somehow finding its way straight to the remains of his dark heart.

He's startled when the sound of the whistle indicates that it's his turn again, but more so because the almost divine music he just heard comes to an abrupt end. He blindly reaches for the keys again, intending to go on like he did in the previous round.

But as Gold continues playing the dark, heavy music he favors, he finds himself hearing something considerably less gloomy in between. Somehow, one of his hands turns out to be creating it in addition to the music he  _did_ mean to play, without the permission or even awareness of the rest of him.

Before he can question what on earth is happening, before he can  _care_ , his minute is over again. When he finds that Belle French incorporates darker melodies in her own music this time, it doesn't even matter anymore.

She must be improvising on the spot; that's the only way that she can react to his music like this... and she's doing so considerably better than many a professional pianist would after practicing many an hour on a single piece.

Yet more intriguingly, more strangely, she smiles only more brightly at him, as if she finds joy of sorts in these developments.

By the time it's his turn again, it doesn't even register with Gold that he improvises for the first time in his life, for the very first time just playing what comes up in him rather than meticulously recreating the music of the old masters tone after reverent tone.

When another one of her minutes starts, he's in awe rather than offended that he recognizes a tune from a musical that his son and he once saw, all those years ago. But rather than merely copying the tune that his boy used to hum for months at an end, she expands it, improves it, almost magically making it  _more_ than the original.

Nostrils flaring and fingers dancing nimbly over the keys like they have never done before, Gold has no idea what's happening anymore. He doesn't hear Jefferson's whistle any longer, isn't aware of the quietness or the awe of the audience, of the cameras registering everything, of the sheen of sweat appearing on his brow.

All there is is music, and it doesn't matter any longer whether it's French's or his. They just  _play_ , like they have always done so... like they always will.

He isn't aware that Jefferson indicated that they ought to play together now, whether he did so at all. All Gold knows is that it only gets better, something bigger and stronger than himself taking over as he plays like he never has in his life before... like he didn't know he could.

It seems only natural that she takes the lead, her melodies still quick and bright but not as much so as before. He supports her music with slower, darker sounds of his own, embedding light tunes of his personal design into their music every once in a while.

Their one minute together passes without announcement, and so does the second, and the third. Gold doesn't notice, all his senses filled with their music and with the sight of the woman playing like he has never seen or heard before right opposite him.

All of his financial, artistic and even personal problems are forgotten when the two of them improvise their way through music he couldn't have dreamed of.

All he senses intuitively is that he's  _alive_ in a way he has never been before, that he never wants to play without Belle French anymore. He may have skills, but she has  _talent_ , like he could only wish he had himself.

Still, it doesn't even matter that he'll never be as good as she will be in time. Just hearing her is enough, and so is watching her, the sheen of perspiration on her face, bare arms and cleavage, her impossibly blue eyes sparkling brightly. Her rapid, elegant movements as her entire body plays along with her hands only further enhance the beauty of it all.

Their eyes are locked the whole time and as the two of them simultaneously head into a crescendo of their magnificent co-creation, playing as if they are one and the same being rather than two very different and separate individuals who never met until an hour ago - and of which one loathed the other until a few minutes ago.

They don't need more than their continued eye contact to bring the piece to its abrupt conclusion, both of them breathing heavily and their chests heaving by the time the last note fades away.

Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, but never breaking his gaze away from hers, Gold finds that there's a deafening silence around them... only for the entire studio to erupt in a cacophony of highly appreciative noise when the audience recovers from what appears to be similar to the spell he himself was under when Belle and he played.

"This is truly incredible," Jefferson can be heard over the cheers of the audience, if only thanks to his microphone. "In all my life, I've never heard anything like it. Miss French, Mr. Gold, thank you so much for this amazing performance. I'm sure it'll be remembered for many years to come."

It hasn't entirely dawned on Gold what just happened, that it might have been Jefferson's intention all along to draw a performance from him that would put him back in the spotlight... not one of the highly qualitative but traditional and probably too conservative recitals he used to be known for, but something as wonderful and dynamic as what Belle just inspired him to.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Jefferson continues, turning towards the audience again. "It's probably an impossible task, yet I ask of you to decide who is the winner of this highly spectacular piano battle. The pianist who gets the loudest reaction from the audience, wins."

The host gestures grandly at his two guests, but Gold only has eyes for the rather overwhelmed looking woman opposite him.

"Let's hear it for Belle French!" Jefferson shouts towards the crowd, further stirring them up.

The audience stands up as one, for as far as they weren't standing already, clapping and cheering, calling Belle's name. The woman in question looks away from him at last, seemingly startled by all the noise, or the fact that all those people are in the same studio as her to begin with.

Gold doesn't doubt for a second that Belle has won, that those people will not in a million years react the same way to him. He wouldn't have been able to imagine it when they started, but by now he's simply happy that they adore Belle like this. For as far as he is concerned, she is the rightful winner of their piano battle.

"Let's hear it for Mr. Gold!"

Jefferson is by now barely audible over the noise of the crowd. Gold presumes that all those people simply haven't heard the host, that it isn't their intention in the slightest that they're technically voting for  _him_ now.

But to his bewilderment, there's no denying that the people call out his last name, some of them even yelling it rhythmically, as if they're speaking with a single voice.

"I think you'll all agree with me that we are looking at two winners here," Jefferson exclaims, grinning broadly as he claps his hands as well. "Now let's give Miss French and Mr. Gold one final applause for their spectacular performance, exclusively here at  _The Mad Hat_ show."

When he catches Belle beaming at him like she's just as happy for his success as for her own, he can only stare at her like a man who is watching water burn. He's oblivious to how the audience eventually quiets down, how Jefferson thanks the two of them for their presence and asks the viewers to tune in for the next episode, same channel and same time next week.

Gold  _is_ very much aware how Jefferson addresses Belle once the cameras have stopped rolling, drawing her gaze away from him. He also sees exactly how the woman all but squeals when the host congratulates her, and heartily embraces the television host.

For a strange, unexplainable reason, Gold finds himself wishing for just a second that Belle would embrace him like that as well... that she would look back at him rather than head for several young women in the audience, doubtlessly her friends.

Jefferson approaches him in the emptying studio, his smile just as slightly mad as the rapid movement of his fingers on the screen of his phone.

"You're in for a surprise, old man," Jefferson smirks, looking up from his phone for only for a moment. "You won't  _believe_ the buzz on Facebook and Twitter that you and Belle just caused."

"What does that  _mean_?" Gold asks, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Mark my words, you're going to be famous," the other man says, offering him his hand. "Congratulations, my friend. I dare say you're going to be more famous than you've ever been, all those years ago. Just don't forget who got you there, huh?"

Jefferson grins at him, not deterred in the slightest when Gold doesn't react, just like he knew he wouldn't be.

"If I may be so bold to say so, I think it was a  _brilliant_ idea of myself to put you and Belle here together. She deserves the recognition just as much as you do, but I would never have guessed that the two of you would bring out the best in each other like that."

Gold raises a single eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"Believe it or not, there's more people I'm fond of than your grumpy old self," Jefferson says, his smile widening at something he sees on his screen. "I met Belle a few weeks ago. She works at the library where Grace gets her books of all places, would you believe it? Grace told me all about her and when she showed me Belle's videos on YouTube, I just  _had_ to have her on the show. Then I thought of you. Wow, I  _knew_ something great would happen if I would put the two of you up here, but  _this_ went even beyond my admittedly wild expectations."

Jefferson puts his phone away for a moment, properly taking in the sight of the man standing in front of him for the first time.

"Are you all right, Gold? You don't look well."

"A bit tired," he replies sardonically, not wanting to consider the sudden feeling of emptiness inside his chest while Jefferson is still there. "I suppose that happens at my  _advanced_  age."

"We are going out, celebrating at the  _Rabbit Hole_. The crew will be there... and I imagine Belle will go as well. Will you and your advanced age join us?"

"No thank you," he mutters, not needing any more reminders that he's no young man anymore, that the world has moved on without him, no matter what Jefferson might say.

"Have it your way, miserable git. Only you can be so sour when you're at the verge of a major breakthrough."

"I imagine I'll feel a lot better already when you finally leave me alone," he mutters, not nearly finding as much joy in their familiar banter as he usually does.

"And I'm going to do just that," Jefferson claims, making his way out of the studio as well. "You know where to find us if you change your mind."

"Don't count on it," Gold mutters in response, more to himself than to the other man.

Sighing, he sinks down on the still warm seat behind the piano he just vacated, regarding the by now deserted, silent and dark studio around him. Really, he's better off here, all by himself, imagining that something of Belle's lively loveliness is still lingering. He tells himself that it doesn't matter that she's gone, that it's for the best that he'll probably never see her again.

It's ironic, really. For too many years to consider, all he wanted was to regain the fame and popularity he once had. If Jefferson is to believed, that goal he had all but given up on is within reach once more.

And yet, sitting there all alone, that prospect hardly means anything. Whether Gold likes it or not, he has the sudden feeling that any sales or performances that might come from this won't be able to fill the emptiness inside of him, caused by the knowledge that whatever comes next will pale in comparison to what Belle and he just created... by seeing her smile or look at him with fondness or admiration.

Telling himself that there's no point in thinking like this, Gold picks up his cane and slowly limps his way out of the studio.


	2. Chapter 2

Staring at the face looking back at him in the mirror of his dressing room, Gold wonders when he got so  _old_. His hair is streaked with gray and the harsh lines on his face are much more pronounced than he would like them to be.

Then again, he'd better not forget for only a moment just how old, unattractive and plainly unlovable he actually is, lest he might make himself any depressing illusions with regard to a certain impossibly talented, blue-eyed pianist.

His usually comfortable suit feeling too restrictive after the recent exertion, he methodically takes off his tie and suit jacket, unbuttoning his vest while he's at it. Still feeling like he can't breathe entirely freely after that, he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt as well, careful not to glance at himself in the mirror while he does so.

No matter how much Gold would like it to be otherwise, there's no point to wondering how he might persuade Belle to perform with him again, if only once. He might have felt better than he probably ever did while playing the piano with her, but she's got infinitely better options at her disposal, especially after tonight.

Still, just watching her perform solo might bring back the light into his life of which he didn't realize until now that it was missing. He probably could take a look at that YouTube thing of hers... Jefferson might tell him where he can possibly find something like that. The other man will probably tease him for the rest of his life, both for his ignorance on all things modern and his sudden interest in her music, but it would be completely worth it just to hear Belle French play again.

She'll be performing at the big venues soon enough, he is certain of that. He'll do his very best to gather enough cash by then so he can buy himself a ticket for a seat somewhere in the back of the theater so he can safely admire her, quietly and from afar.

Despite himself, Gold can't keep from wondering whether there might be a way to be more than a passive observer of her development. Despite his many commercial or even artistic failings as a pianist himself, despite the fact that she doesn't need him at all, there might be a way he could persuade her to let him tutor her, if only once.

Just imagining the two of them sitting side by side behind a piano, their hands touching every once in a while, sends a flood of unfamiliar sensations through him. It would have been discomforting if it wouldn't have been for the lightness that those strange feelings bring him as well, so vividly reminding him of her.

If only he wouldn't have been such a complete bastard to her, simply because he let prejudice get the better of him, because he envied her youth, social ease and beauty. He makes himself no illusions whatsoever that she might have been intrigued by him if only he would have been polite or even kind, but at least she might have liked him like one can like a father figure or a mentor.

Thinking back on her radiant smile and sparkling eyes, those images all but burned in his mind, Gold finds himself humming under his breath. The melody isn't only that of the music they played together, but also new melodies, notes and tunes which remind him of her.

He is filled with a sudden sense of purpose and direction when it dawns on him that he could compose her a song.  _The Ballad of Belle French_ has quite a ring to it. He has never composed anything in his life, but already the notes are accumulating in his head, his hands caressing phantom keys.

There's no way of course that he could capture all her loveliness and beauty in mere music, but he's most certainly going to do his very best. Similarly, there's no way that he can ever tell her that he has composed her a song, let alone that he could perform it for her, without mortally embarrassing both of them.

But she doesn't have to  _know..._ if anything, it'll be good for both of them. He'll have something to do to distract himself from her, to put this inexplainable, restless energy to use without bothering and disturbing Belle with it.

Reaching for the notebook he always carries with him to keep track of his appointments and 'to do' lists – there aren't many of either of them, these days – he scrabbles the title on the top of the page, then proceeds with the first few notes that come to mind.

Feeling better than he has done for a considerable time, Gold hums and writes, not allowing himself to linger on the wasted potential of only finding this drive three decades into his career.

Utterly focused on his new work, he's thoroughly startled by a knock on the door.

"Who's there?" he asks, having no idea who even knows that he's still here, let alone who would approach him now that Jefferson is gone.

"It's Belle French," a sweet, already thoroughly familiar voice says on the other side of the door.

"Oh," is all he can bring out, stupidly, his mind racing and something inside his belly fluttering.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Gold, but I hope I can talk to you for a few minutes."

"Of course!" he cries out, realizing far too late that he shouldn't sound so pathetically hopeful. "Please, come in. The door is open."

At least he has the presence of mind to put the notebook with the composition away in his pocket before she steps into the dressing room.

"Thanks for letting me in," she says, smiling at him in that thoroughly mesmerizing way of hers.

"You're welcome," he says, grasping for anything dignified or witty to say... anything that makes sense, really. "I... I thought you would have left. To the party, I mean. Jefferson mentioned it. That you would probably go."

"I'm not much of a party-goer," she casually says, still smiling gently at him.

"Neither am I," he manages, unable to prevent himself from thinking that they at least have  _this_ in common beyond their love for playing the piano.

The silence between them lengthens, but there's nothing he can think of to say... nothing that's not about how lovely she looks and how grateful he is that she paid him a visit.

"I... I wanted to thank you, Mr. Gold," she eventually says, her smile turning apologetic. "I'll keep it brief, so I won't bother you for long."

"You're not... you're not bothering me," he manages, finding words to say after all at the discovery that she thinks that she's disturbing him rather than making this night even better. "I'm delighted to talk to you."

"You are?!" she asks, sounding surprised and... well, it's probably just his own imagination and wishful thinking that leaves him with the impression that she sounds  _pleased_.

"I am," he simply says, telling himself that being too kind to her will be almost as bad as being rude.

"Oh, in that case... Can I come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he quickly replies, only realizing then that he's still seated and that she's still standing on the threshold. To his relief, he spots an unused chair in a corner of the room.

Standing up with more difficulty than he would like, he pulls the chair next to his and invites her to sit down on it with a gesture.

"Would you like some tea, Miss French?"

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you."

Rather proud of himself for remembering that the required facilities are available, Gold is equally grateful for having something to do as Belle French sits down in his dressing room and curiously looks around her.

"Miss French, while you are here... please allow me to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening. I can't tell you how sorry I am for behaving so poorly. I promise you it won't happen again. I have nothing but petty excuses, but I hope you'll accept my apologies."

Apologizing to her while he is preparing tea and doesn't directly look her in the eyes isn't nearly an adequate way to ask for her forgiveness, but it's the only way in which he can.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold. Thank you very much. I gladly accept your apologies. It's a... well, it's a relief. This was one of the reasons I came to see you now; I wanted to talk about the way you treated me. I wondered whether it was something I said or did. I... well, there's no other way I can say it, but it bothered me when you refused to talk to me during the show and that you at first didn't even want to perform with me."

The implication that she blames herself for his rudeness gives him the courage after all to face her, sitting down opposite her to look her in the eyes when he continues talking once the water starts to boil.

"Please don't think my appalling behavior had anything to do with you, Miss French. I alone am to blame. It's just... Jefferson had let me to believe that I would be the only guest tonight. He had this grand plan about reviving my career and... well, I got carried away by it. Imagine my surprise when there was a young, passionate and well-spoken second guest who effortlessly captured the attention I had hoped to have myself."

Gold may be relieved that he has this chance to tell her the truth and to apologize, but it's yet more difficult when she blushes beautifully in response to his indirect if heartfelt compliments.

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't know you were going to be there either. Mr. Jefferson had told me that there would be a second guest, but that his or her identity would be a surprise until the last moment. He eventually only told me an hour or so before the show began. I was barely recovered by then."

"What do you mean?" he asks, not understanding at all what she might have to recover from upon learning that he was going to be appear in the show with her.

"The water is boiling,"she says, gesturing at the electric kettle. "I have to tell you that... well, it's embarrassing. It's probably easier to say when you're not sitting right next to me. Would you mind to..."

"Not at all," he says, mystified, picking up his cane to make his way back to the impractical narrow and high table with the tea things.

"As I said, this is embarrassing, but... I wasn't exaggerating when I said earlier that I look up to you. You were my idol, Mr. Gold. In fact, you still are. You were the favorite pianist of my late mother; she listened to your music all the time. And so did I, since I was a baby. You were my inspiration when I grew up."

Hearing this, he is indeed glad to have something to distract himself with as he pours the hot water into two glasses, not entirely successfully trying to keep his hands from shaking and, indeed, almost dropping the boiling liquid on his skin. Whatever he was expecting, he most certainly didn't see it coming that Belle French by some miracle would turn out to be an admirer of sorts of his work... of  _him_ even, perhaps.

"Please, Mr. Gold. I realize what this probably sounds like to you, but let me reassure you that I'm not a crazy fangirl or anything like that. Or at least, I think I'm not."

Having filled two cups with steaming water and having put them on a box containing a considerable diversity and quantity of teabags, there's no other logical option than to return to her and present the refreshments.

"I mean, I didn't really know what you looked like until I met you this evening. My mother had just the one of your CDs and there was no picture of you on the cover or in the booklet. Money was always tight, so we couldn't afford to go to your recitals or buy more albums. Later on I looked up as much of your work as I could on YouTube, but there were barely any live performances. And even if there were, the video quality was too low to take a good look at you. But I did study your work and I was very thrilled to meet you today. I still am, as you might be able to tell from my rambling."

"You're not... you're not rambling, Miss French," he says, offering her a mug. "In fact,  _I_ might be the one who is not going to make much sense... for as far as I'm not doing so already. It's... well, I can't say it any differently – I'm deeply flattered by your admiration. I never would have guessed."

"Because I'm... part of the younger generation?"

He tenses for a moment, afraid that he has accidentally offended her once again, but her teasing smile informs him that she's merely jesting.

"No, it's because of your music preference when we... battled. Although I admit that I wouldn't expect someone of your age to be one of the few people who might still know who I am."

Watching her dip a bag of strawberry tea in the hot water he handed her, Gold wonders how it can be so very easy and so painfully difficult to talk to someone at the same time. Granted, he hasn't all that much experience in talking to people in the first place, especially not in the past few years, but this simply is ridiculous.

"I'm twenty-six, by the way," she says quietly, disposing the tea bag on the saucer he hands her.

Gold colors red in shame, realizing that she must have heard when he referred to her to Jefferson as a teenager – a teenager who can barely reach the keys of the piano, just to make it worse.

"I'm sorry, Miss French. I took my anger with Jefferson out on you. A very painful and regretful decision that I can't apologize often enough for."

"You don't have to, for as far as I'm concerned," she says quietly, taking an appreciative sip from her tea. "Just knowing that you're sorry and that you didn't mean it like that is enough to me."

"That's a great relief to me. I'm... I'm fifty-three, in case you're wondering."

He doesn't quite know whether he reveals that he's more than twice her age to warn her or he himself.

"I know. You look younger, though," she replies matter-of-factly. "I would have guessed mid-fourties, if I would have had to. Which I didn't."

"Why not?" he asks, bewildered. "I... I thought you didn't know much about me as a person."

"I didn't," she says, her cheeks coloring again. "I don't. It's just... the CD I mentioned, the one my mother had, there was a short biography of you on the back. It included your year of birth. I suppose I... remember."

"You look younger, too," he says lamely, his mind bending because of her revelation that she would peg him almost a decade younger than he actually is.

"I get that a lot," she says, smiling. "But you were saying something about not suspecting I love your work based on the music I just played?"

"Don't get me wrong, because what you played was  _incredible_ , but the type of it was the complete opposite of what I play myself."

Gold can't help but notice the way she smiles and sits straighter at the off-hand compliment he barely realized giving. He mentally pats himself on the back for at least doing  _this_ right, no matter how incidental.

"I've listened to your music for as long as I can remember, but when I began playing myself I found that I preferred lighter music. Yours really is dark and gloomy, you know? It's  _beautiful_ , in a haunting way, but... well, dark and gloomy."

"It is," he says, wholly agreeing with her, although he only fully realizes now just how much all of his work is defined by minor tonalities.

"Oh, by the way, would you mind just calling me Belle? 'Miss French' is horribly formal, don't you think?"

"Of course, Miss Fr...  _Belle_."

Telling himself that it doesn't  _mean_ anything that she asks him to use her given name, he simply focuses on the smile that appears on her face yet again, brighter than her music.

"I'm not asking for your first name, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, I would love to know it and  _use_ it, but only if you like me to."

"You mean you haven't found that particular bit of information about me yet in your painstaking exploration of my life's work?" he asks before he has given himself permission to do so, his tone undeniably playful.

"No, I have not. It's almost a bit of an enigma, really. I have been wondering about this, but I can never find your first name anywhere. It's always 'Mr. Gold', or just 'Gold'. To be honest, I quite like the mystery of it. Although I would like to think that you are at some point comfortable with telling me."

"Probably sooner than you think," he finds himself muttering, knowing only too well that he indeed would eventually very much like her to be among the very few people – if not the only person – to know and use his first name.

"That would be wonderful," she says, beaming at him, causing his lingering blush to deepen.

Gold has no idea what it is exactly, but there's something about Belle that does  _things_ to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold is still trying to process the fact that she basically told him that she wants to get to know him a lot better, but Belle has already continued talking with that enthusiasm of hers that he's grown so very fond of in the few hours he has known her.

"Now that we've got this out of the way, I'd like to get back to the other reason I hoped to speak to you. Can I just say how much I  _loved_ playing the piano with you? I've never enjoyed performing as much as I did this evening with you."

"That feeling is entirely mutual, Miss... Belle. I've never performed with a partner before, which I realize now is a horrible oversight on my part. I wish I would have discovered a long time ago just how enjoyable it is to perform together like this... although I sincerely doubt whether anyone other than yourself would have made the experience so memorable."

"It means a lot to me to hear you say that, Mr. Gold. I had no idea you enjoyed it so much as well. I mean, I play a lot and I often improvise, but it has never been like this at all. I usually feel like the music just flow _s_ whenever I start to play, but what happened tonight... it was like something took over, like I went beyond myself. I can't begin to describe it. It's just...  _thank you_  so much for giving me that chance."

"My experience was very similar. I have never done anything like this before and during all those performances I've given throughout the years, I couldn't have imagined that I could feel so... so confident while playing, that the melodies came so easily. It's like the music played itself and I could just sit there and enjoy it."

"It was like a once in a lifetime experience for me," she sighs, briefly closing her eyes as if she's still hearing their music, still  _feeling_ it. "I hope Jefferson's crew has made a very good recording of this, because I'm going to watch it back  _a lot_."

"It doesn't have to be," he finds himself saying, lingering on her first sentence.

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't have to be a once in a lifetime experience for as far as I'm concerned," he clarifies, hope flaring inside of him that there might be another chance to play together with her... perhaps a lot more than just once. "I have no idea what might happen if we play together again, but I have good hopes that something magical will occur once more."

"You wouldn't mind doing that?!"

"Not at all," he replies, chuckling at the discovery that Belle, against all his expectations, would like this as much as he did. "Quite the opposite. I'm very much looking forward to it."

They just grin at each other for a while and Gold marvels at how  _easy_ talking to her turns out to be.

"And if there ever is something I can do for you professionally, just let me know," he continues, encouraged. "I've lost my recording deal three years ago and I'm practically bankrupt, but I still know a lot of people of importance. I like to think that I know a thing or two about playing the piano as well, so... if you ever need help with something, or advice, please just don't hesitate to ask."

"I'm so sorry about your career," she cries out, seemingly entirely missing the part where he offered her assistance of a kind he never offered to anyone before. Still, there's no considering that when she casually places a comforting hand on his knee, and all thought basically flees him. "I had no idea! If I may be so bold, can I ask what happened?"

"The business changed," he says, struggling to formulate a reply. "I did not. Even if I wanted to, I didn't know how."

"But that can still change, can't it?" she asks, her eyes wide and hopeful.  _"You_ can still change, if you want to. Jefferson said that the two of us did amazing, that our performance on the show will lead to new opportunities for both of us."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, very much so, but... this isn't the same for you as it is for me. I can do an extra recital here and another performance there, probably. Perhaps I reach a niche of a new audience, maybe I can even record a new CD. But you... you are young, modern. You understand the way the industry works now, you can easily adapt. You know whatever the hell YouTube is."

"I think you'll be all right, Mr. Gold," she says, seemingly ignoring his attempt to explain why the apparent success of their performance in Jefferson's show won't have the same impact for him as for her - and rightly so.

"Belle, please don't get me wrong. You deserve the attention more than anyone else, especially more than me. I've had my success, I've had my career. Talking to you like this only makes clearer to me that it's time for the next generation to take their space in the spotlight, as they should."

"I'm rather sure that there's plenty of place for two generations in the spotlight, Mr. Gold. Just let me show you. It's really not complicated."

Putting her by now empty mug aside, she retrieves a mobile phone from her handbag and repositions her chair so that it ends up yet closer to his. Gold is just in time to get rid of his own, long forgotten and by now cold mug of tea before she leans towards him, their shoulders brushing.

"Here we go," she says, bringing her device to life with a few slides of her fingers, holding the screen between them. "First, we go online."

She taps a button of sorts, causing the screen to change. He watches her with close attention, getting admittedly distracted by her elegant fingers.

"From here, we go to YouTube," she says, another tap of her finger bringing her to a screen with what appears to be a lot of pictures. "It's a website to place videos and share them with others. Let me show you my profile."

Gold follows everything she does and says with ever increasing interest and admiration. Now  _this_ would be something to write down in his notebook, preferably with instructions and all. If only he could later do this himself and take a look at everything at his leisure... but he doesn't want to take notes when she's still with him, doesn't want Belle to think him yet more old-fashioned than she doubtlessly already does.

"To get to my profile without a link, I'm just going to search for it here by typing in my name in the search bar."

He watches her type in her name and press 'enter', and consequently tap the entry on top of the page.

"This is me," she says proudly, showing him a brightly colored page with pictures which will presumably somehow lead to videos, all of them showing her behind a piano in what appears to be a small room. "Would you like to see one?"

"I'd love to," he says, trying to conceal just how excited he is to see one of her videos of which he has heard so much in the past few hours, especially if Belle herself is going to show it to him.

"I'll show you a recent one," she says, looking at him with delight. "This was recorded a few days ago, in my apartment. It's a small place, as you can see, but it's home."

Very curious about the place where she lives, Gold would like to see as much of her apartment in the video as he can. But there's no focusing on anything but her music once she starts the video and the sound of her piano fills the dressing room where they are sitting together.

Yet more so than when they played together during the show, he is wholly captivated by her music as soon as it reaches his ears. Closing his eyes to focus fully on the melodies and their nuances, the limited quality of the instrument she uses at her home is easily ignored in favor of the smooth way the music flows from her fingertips.

"Did you compose this yourself?" he asks, too eager to find out where the to him unknown music comes from to wait until the song is actually finished.

"I did, yes," she says, appearing slightly embarrassed when he looks at her probably more intently than he should.

"It's... it's  _wonderful_ ," he says, turning his eyes back to the video to watch her play quietly, the joy of creating the music written plainly on her face.

Closing his eyes again, Gold appreciates her music only more now that he knows that she composed it herself. Yet more so than when they played together during the show, he feels tremendously stupid and prejudiced for ever thinking that she couldn't have the talent or the discipline to become a successful professional pianist.

A long while passes after the video is finished as he just keeps her music playing in his head, savoring each and every note of it.

"You are truly gifted, Belle," he says eventually, barely able to imagine just how much better she can still get if she keeps developing like this.

Looking back at the screen, he realizes for the first time just how many videos there are.

"How far do they go back?" he asks, wondering for how long she has been doing this.

"Almost five years, I think," she replies, moving among the videos at neck-breaking speed. "Yeah, those are from when I still lived with my father, before I moved to the apartment above the library."

"Can I see one of those?"

"Of course you can. Here's one you might also like, although I didn't compose it. Keep in mind that those videos are from quite some time ago; I like to think that I've improved since then. I mean, I still wouldn't dare compare myself to a very well respected and established pianist such as the original performer of this piece, but I know I've come a long way in the past years. That's one of the reasons why I keep those old videos up, so the people who watch them can see for themselves how I developed. I hope it'll inspire them."

She has told him that he was her favorite pianist when he grew up – that he still is – but that doesn't quite prepare Gold for the sight of an even younger version of the incredible talent sitting next to him playing one of his more well-known pieces, one of the few original songs that he brought out back in the day.

If the music had been anyone else's, he would have jumped at the chance to analyze the difference between her performance then and now. As it is, Gold can only listen to the whole song in awed bewilderment, the experience of listening to her younger self playing his music almost surreal.

He's more focused than he has been for a long time, paying as much attention to her performance as he can. He is determined to pick up the smallest of variations between his and her version now that his question how she might play the dark and melancholic music he favors is unexpectedly answered.

"I suppose you're thinking of the dozens of things I probably did wrong, huh?" she asks him with a teasing but also rather apprehensive smile.

Realizing only then that the video is actually finished and that he was going over the whole song once again in the confines of his mind, Gold is quick to reassure her.

"No, no, not at all. I was wondering how my version can benefit from your approach."

"I understand that you might want to be careful with my feelings after how you behaved on the show, but there really is no reason to lie to me, Mr. Gold," she says, her tone still teasing but her smile fading.

"I'm sincere, Belle," he simply says, not knowing how else he might persuade her of the genuineness of his remark. "Once we've got a piano at our disposal, I'd love to take a look with you at both of our versions of the piece and see what might be approved in either version."

"I'd love that."

"Me too," he replies, marveling at the prospect of it rather than at the irony of hoping that  _she_ can teach  _him_ a thing or two.

The way she grins at him in response has that strange fluttering inside of him intensifying.

"So how does this work?" he asks, curious beyond her sheer presence in the videos – and somewhat eager to change the subject. "You record your videos and put them up here, and then what?"

"Yes, I usually record a new song about once a month and then upload it to YouTube. It's mostly videos of songs that I composed myself, but I've also made videos of myself playing existing music, or posting tutorials so others can learn how to play certain pieces. People who like my music can subscribe to my channel and favorite the videos. The more subscribes and likes I get, the more popular my channel becomes. Basically, I hope that it gets big enough to attract attention from mainstream media. Mr. Jefferson is the first who expressed an interest, although I have the suspicion that it has mainly to do with his daughter liking me."

Not risking to look directly at her when she's talking animatedly – she's too passionate, too  _beautiful_  – Gold looks instead at the screen that's still in front of him.

"I'm certain your appearance on the show will lead to something, Belle. The entire country has seen what you can do. You know what Jefferson said. The future is yours."

"I hope so. And I hope the same for you. But as it is, I'm back at work in the library next Monday, eight am sharp."

"I dare to say that will only be temporary."

"Thanks," she says, just when a particular part of the screen catches his attention.

"What does this mean?" he asks, gesturing at the large number right underneath the video.

"That's the number of times this video has been watched by people."

"Belle," he says weakly, "this one has been watched more than a million times."

"I know. I've got a few with slightly more than that, but this one was the first that went through a million. It seems only fitting that it's the video where I play one of your songs."

"You're more famous than I ever was," he murmurs, looking up at her after all, yet more in awe of her than he already was.

"I highly doubt that, Mr. Gold. I'm hardly a big fish. I'm no one outside YouTube. I'm only a librarian in real life. Of course, I'm proud of getting what I have now, but it needs to be a lot more if I want to record and sell actual CDs like you did, never mind if they are only digital or not, if I want to perform somewhere that's not my living room or the library."

"But you're getting there, surely?" he asks, pointing at the number of views. "With the money you make from this..."

"I can only wish it would be enough to make a living. As it is, I'm making only a few hundred bucks a month at the most with these videos."

"How can that be?!" he asks, not understanding at all. "All those times this single video has been watched, multiplied by all those videos you have released throughout the years..."

"All I get is some compensation for the ads that are played along with the video. I roughly get two dollar per thousand views."

"That's  _theft_ ," he growls, looking at her in complete disbelief.

"That's YouTube's compensation policy," she says, shrugging. "I'm trying to develop my own website, my own business model, but between having a job that actually pays the bills and playing the piano... well, there are only so many hours in a day."

Gold shakes his head at the unfairness of it – at the fact that he himself thought of her anything than ambitious and hard-working earlier this evening.

"If it's any consolation to you, that's more than what I make now," he admits. "Considerably more."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" she gasps, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I wish I was," he replies self-consciously.

"But... what are you living off now?"

"Let's just say it's a good thing that I made some profitable investments with the money I earned back in the day. It's just enough to go by now."

It never bothered him more that his career – his  _life_ \- has come to this than now that Belle French looks at him with what seem to be tears in her eyes.

"Let me show you something," she says, her voice suddenly hoarse. She touches her screen again, maneuvering to somewhere below the video to show what appear to be some sort of messages. "Here are some reactions to the video in which I played your song. You might like to read them."

Starting to read, Gold soon realizes that he's also looking at her replies to the messages which people left on her video of her version of his song. He doesn't know what bewilders him more: that people express interest in his work or that Belle directs them to something called Amazon, where his CDs are apparently still sold.

Realizing that he might as well have been actually bankrupt by now if it weren't for her, he can only stare at Belle in complete astonishment.

"This is probably rather bold coming from me, but I was thinking..."

"What were you thinking?" he asks roughly when she falters, looking at him in a way no one has ever done.

"Let's work together. I think that a lot of people watching my videos would really appreciate it if you made an appearance in one of them. You could also put a tutorial on my channel, if you'd like, or a video of you playing one of your own songs. Millions of people would see it at least after we performed here together tonight. It could give both of us the exposure we are looking for."

"You wouldn't mind?!" he asks, not having ever encountered anyone in the industry who was so generous, especially not with a career of their own about to take off.

This might as well be the best opportunity of his life. Even if there were no impact on his career whatsoever, he at least would get to know Belle better, perhaps even visit her home. Spending more time with her is a yet better prospect than a potential professional comeback.

"Are you serious?! I'd be delighted, very much so. I mean, I'm shaking at the thought of working with you and learning things from you."

She holds out her left arm as if for inspection. To his bewilderment he sees that her hand is indeed trembling.

"Before you came in, I was thinking that it'd be honored to tutor you," he admits, "for as far as you need my help in the first place."

"Really?" she says, looking at him as if he just handed her a recording deal.

"Yes. But only if you want to, of course."

"Of course I want to!" she cries out, almost jumping from her chair in excitement. "It would be amazing beyond words."

"Let's work together then," he says, grinning himself now.

"No matter what happens next, meeting you is the best part I got out of being on the show."

"That feeling is entirely likewise, my dear."

Gold himself can barely contain his excitement at the prospect of working with Belle French. Thanks to her, the chance of reviving his career has become nothing but a nice bonus. All in all, the future is brighter than it has ever been.


	4. Chapter 4

"I just can't believe it! Getting to know you like this,  _working_ with you, it's like a dream come true."

Gold chuckles at the way Belle squeals at his side, practically jumping up and down in her chair.

"I can barely belief it myself," he replies, smiling in a way he hasn't done in a very long time.

It's difficult to grasp indeed that he doesn't only have a chance of making a professional comeback, but that he has met an extremely delightful young pianist who wants to work with him... an extremely lovely,  _beautiful_ young pianist.

"Do you suppose those pianos are still in the studio?" she asks, reminding him of the two instruments that were brought in during Jefferson's show for the very piano battle that started this very unlikely friendship between them.

"They were still there when I left. Everyone else was already gone by then, so I suppose those pianos haven't been taken away yet," he says, his mood getting yet better. "Would you like to play again... right now?"

"I'd love to! The sooner the better, for as far as I'm concerned."

"Let's go and see if those pianos are still there," he says, beyond excited to play with her once more so soon.

With all this happiness buzzing through him, Gold is feeling two decades younger than he did earlier tonight, when each and every one of his fifty-three years weighed heavily on him. Despite having already found so much more than he could ever have hoped for in Belle's enthusiasm to work together and the subsequent chance to get to know her  _and_ boost his career, Gold can't help but wish that she could see this change in him too, that she might not think of him as an old man any longer.

"Just let me put back my phone," she says, gesturing at the device she's still holding.

He watches her press the screen a few times, marveling at the ease with which she handles the device he can't begin to comprehend.

"Holy  _shit!"_

"What's going on?" he asks, bewildered by her sudden outburst.

"All those messages... it's like my phone is exploding!"

He can only watch her with mild confusion.

"There's  _hundreds_ of them," she cries out. "I don't even know where to begin!"

"Jefferson did say something about 'buzz'," he remarks, feeling rather useless. Still, even  _he_ has an idea what quantity of congratulatory messages might be coming her way if only a tenth of a percent of all the people who watched her music on YouTube were to message her.

He can't suppress a hint of jealousy and disappointment when she bends over her phone, reading and tapping the screen intently. Well, more than a mere hint. Being who he is,  _what_ he is, he was bound to lose her interest sooner rather than later. He just hoped that he would be able to hold her attention – her affection, more than anything – for longer than an hour or so.

"This is  _insane_ ," she mutters. "I can't even think straight."

Baffling him once again, she firmly puts her finger on the screen one more time, than unceremoniously slides the phone back into a pocket of her dress.

"Don't you want to read your messages?" he asks, once again hardly believing what his eyes are telling him.

"I don't want to read them now. I'd much rather talk to you now that both of us are here, and get started with those pianos that are hopefully still in the studio!"

She quickly stands up and he follows her example, if considerably less rapidly. She looks like she's ready to take his hand and drag him right back into the studio in her excitement, her smile so bright that they probably won't even need to switch on the lights in the dark studio.

"Are you always like this?" he can't help but ask.

"Like what?" she asks, all that brightness directed solely on him almost burning him.

"So happy and bubbly and... wonderful."

"I don't think so, sorry! Or at least not  _this_ much. It must be because of getting to know you, Mr. Gold. At the risk of repeating myself, I am  _so_ happy that I met you and that we are getting along like this."

"So am I," he murmurs, blown away by the notion that their blossoming friendship delights her to this extent.

As if to underscore that statement, as if to make his infatuation with her unknowingly yet worse, Belle steps right towards him and, with no warning whatsoever, wraps her arms tightly around him in a spontaneous embrace.

When he saw her hug Jefferson in a similar fashion, he could only wish that she would one day touch him like this. But now that she does, all Gold can do is stand there very stiffly, rooted to the floor in complete bewilderment.

"I'm so sorry!" Belle cries out, abruptly moving away from him, doubtlessly having sensed the sudden tension in his body. "I shouldn't have done that. I... I just wanted to hug you, but I should have taken a moment to  _think_ before throwing myself at you like a complete idiot. From the way you greeted Mr. Jefferson at the beginning of the show I could see that you don't like others closely near you. It was sort of funny, really, how he tried to embrace you like he does with all his guests, whereas you sort of evaded him, and... I'm  _so_ sorry Mr. Gold, I hope you can forgive me for invading your personal space like that and..."

"It's all right, really," he quickly interrupts her. Wasting an opportunity to embrace Belle French is one thing, but to make her feel bad for it really goes too far. "I didn't mind in the slightest. You just took me by surprise, that's all. I'm not exactly used to people wanting to hug me...  _really_ wanting to hug me. Jefferson isn't one of them, with all his show business tricks."

"Oh, I... well, that's a relief to hear," she says, stepping slightly closer to him. "I just... I know I can be a bit... much. Well, a  _lot_ much. So I'd like you to know, now that we're going to work together and see each other more often... just feel very free to let me know whenever I go overboard."

"I don't think you're going overboard at all, Belle. And if you do... I must admit that I like it. Just try to keep breathing, my dear, for your own sake. Please don't worry about embracing me. A little warning next time would be nice, though."

"When you say 'next time', you mean that you don't mind if I hug you again?" she asks, tilting her head and looking at him with an intensity that has a sweat break out all over him.

"That's exactly what I mean, although I would like to add that it's not just that I wouldn't mind... I would very much enjoy it."

"In that case, is it all right with you if I hug you again right now?"

"I would be delighted," he simply replies, shivering with eager anticipation at the prospect.

"Well, in that case... consider yourself warned."

Belle approaches him again, much more slowly this time, appearing to be almost nervous now that she isn't acting out of whatever spontaneous impulse which had her moving so abruptly and decisively before.

This time, Gold knows better than to shut down on himself when her arms go around him and her body presses lightly against his, savoring each blessed second of her nearness.

Her breath pleasantly warm against his skin and some of her curls tickling his face, he becomes gradually aware of the heat of her body at each place where it touches his, and of the softness of her now that she's embracing him like this. It also turns out that her head fits perfectly against his shoulder, in the crook of his neck.

Making a soft noise that he can only describe as contented, Belle snuggles closer against him after a while, muttering something unintelligible as she tightens her hold on him.

No matter how glad he initially is that she appears to enjoy their embrace as much as he does, that she prolongs their psychical contact like he secretly hoped she would, Gold gets somewhat uneasy now that her body is pressed none too lightly against his own.

He should have seen it coming, probably shouldn't have accepted her generous offer to hug him like this in the first place, for there's no escaping that Belle simply feels too dangerously good.

It's like she's all around him, in too many, too glorious ways. There's the feeling of her body flush against his, of course, but her scent is just as exhilarating. It's a heady mix of perfume and  _her,_ practically making him light-headed.

He can only hope that his aftershave covers up the scent that was caused by his exertion behind the piano. Still, there's nothing that might indicate that she's in any way disgusted by his embrace. If anything, Belle is breathing in deeply, as if she's entirely relaxed  _because_ of their current closeness.

The prospect of playing the same piano as her, brushing his hands over her smaller, delicate ones, isn't nearly as soothing as he might have imagined an hour ago.

The longer they stand there like that, the more Gold finds himself thinking that he doesn't want this to be the last time that he can touch her like this… and the more aware he gets of everything about this wonderful woman, but especially the way she feels when pressing herself against him this way.

Then, to his absolute horror but not quite to his surprise, there's a stirring in the part of him that has been just as dead as his career, and for considerably longer so.

"I think this is quite enough," he says, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

He doesn't know how he might hide his... condition until he is safely seated behind a piano – he can only hope that he'll be able to talk her out of sitting next to each other – but there's no denying that staying like this is the shortest road to trouble, straight to the ending of a very valuable friendship before it could even properly begin.

"Just a little bit longer," she mutters in protest, playfully pushing herself yet more firmly against him. "It feels so nice to hug you, I want to enjoy it for one more moment."

Gold clenches his fists, nails digging mercilessly into the tender skin of his palm, and harshly bites his lip. There's nothing he can do however to change the inevitable, to prevent him from hardening between them, right against the softness of her stomach.

He cherishes the foolish hope that she somehow hasn't noticed. Of course, it's the only possible outcome that she tenses against him a mere moment later, gasping in shock.

"I'm sorry," he manages to say, the slight change in the pressure of her body against his only worsening the problem. "I'm so very sorry."

"Is that why you wanted me to move away from you? So I wouldn't feel this?"

"Yes," he replies through gritted teeth, closing his eyes firmly both out of embarrassment and in a desperate attempt to will his arousal away.

"You think I didn't want to feel this?"

To his complete bewilderment, she remains right in front of him rather than stepping away from him.

"Of course you don't want to feel this... you shouldn't even know this."

"Is this because of  _me_?"

"Belle, please," he says, the state of his career or even of his cooperation with her the least of his worries for as long as she remains standing so closely to him. Salvaging their blossoming friendship is the only thing he wants, but it seems like that is far in the realm of impossibilities. "I can't... please let go of me, this is only getting worse if you..."

She releases her arms immediately from around him at those words, but to his confusion she remains standing right where she is.

"Do you want me to let go because you truly don't want me near you any longer, or do you want me to let go because you think that I don't like feeling you against me like that?"

"I don't want you near me any longer  _because_ you don't like feeling me against you like... like..."

She interrupts him before he might be able to put into words how perverted he feels for turning an embrace between friends into something else entirely... into something unspeakable.

"Is it truly so strange that I  _like_ feeling what I do to you, if it's indeed me you're reacting to?"

"What are you saying?!" he rasps, his eyes opening to directly face whatever is going on exactly at the implication that she might be the opposite of offended and disgusted by his arousal.

"I'm trying to find out whether I'm turning you on before telling you that I'm very flattered and happy that I do."

"You... what..."

He looks at her in complete disbelief. He knows better than to think that she's making fun of him, but there's  _no way_ that she's feeling like he does. She might appreciate him as a musician, but most certainly not as a man, an old, crippled and bitter man stuck in the past.

"I'm entirely aware that I hardly know you, but I  _really_ like you, Mr. Gold."

"... oh," is all he can muster in response, staring at the impossibly, wholly enchanting woman.

"And something tells me you like me as well," she says, looking down meaningfully at the middle point of his body, mere inches away from hers.

"When we played together, I... felt," he says weakly.

"What did you feel?"

"I  _felt,"_ he says, not knowing how else to make clear to her that, thanks to her, it's almost like he has just woken up out of a coma of several decades. "And now that we're so close together, I..."

He can't put it into words, can't describe what he's feeling for her, what he actually wants now that it somehow appears that she feels the same way. Unsurprisingly, alarmingly, it appears that Belle  _does_ know.

Slowly but determinedly she reaches for him again, putting one of the hands he earlier admired for a whole different reason on his side. Her touch is light, but her warmth seeps into him, just like an unspoken promise of  _more_.

"Do you want to..."

He considers the question, the  _invitation,_ for as far as he's still capable, for as far as there's actually anything to think about.  _Of course_ he wants whatever she is willing to offer, but it won't lead to anything good, not beyond the very short term at least, and...

"Do you  _want_ to?" she asks again, more insistingly, the fire in her eyes setting him aflame as well.

"Yes, but..."

" _I_ want to," she says, purposefully leaning in to him.

And really, for that one moment it doesn't matter any longer that they shouldn't do this, that she will come to regret this, that he's throwing their chances of friendship away by giving in to his desire for her.

They simultaneously close the distance between them and then, just like that, they are kissing. Gold may have been able to imagine the two of them exchanging chaste kisses, brief pecks on the lips which would have made him a very rich man indeed, no matter what might happen to his career.

What he did _not_ expect were deep, demanding kisses. But there they are, her tongue finding its way into his mouth almost immediately and his meeting hers desperately. It's sloppy and clumsy and  _wet;_  he doesn't really know what he's doing and he's got the feeling that he isn't the only one, but none of that matters in the slightest.

His cane clatters loudly to the floor when his arms come around her, but neither of them appears to hear. He hauls her against him with considerably more force than he intended, with more strength than he knew he possesses, but the way she moans into his mouth is undeniably appreciative.

Her hands fist in his hair, her nails finding a spot at the nape of his neck that has him growling into her mouth. Driven only by the need for  _more_ , his hands are roaming over each and every inch of her he can reach.

Aware of nothing but the way she clings to him with equal vigor, Gold is oblivious to the way they stumble through the dressing room together, none of their legs stable enough to carry their full weight any longer.

With something that can only be luck, they reach the table in front of the mirror, the only somewhat sturdy surface in the dressing room. His tongue still entwined with hers as they all but devour each other, he easily hoists her onto the table without breaking the kiss for only a second, as if she isn't the first woman who he ravishes like this.

But when she locks her ankles behind his waist, her heels digging wonderfully in his buttocks and his crotch ending up tightly pressed against the apex of her thighs, when pleasure he never knew before courses through him, Gold regains to some extent awareness of what is going on between them exactly.

It takes all of his considerable willpower, but he manages to break their kiss, her outcry of disappointment and protest making this only more difficult.

"Sweetheart," he breathes, the way he has been wanting to address her for longer than he cares to admit rolling off his lips before he can stop himself.

"What's wrong?" she asks, breathing heavily. She doesn't loosen her firm grasp on either his neck or his waist, making it in a variety of ways yet harder to think.

"Nothing is  _wrong_ ," he replies, closing his eyes firmly and breathing in deeply in an attempt to calm himself. It doesn't work in the slightest, for he is only more aware of how she intoxicates all his other senses when he momentarily doesn't look at her. "Nothing is wrong _yet_. We can still go back."

"I don't want to go back," she whispers, trailing the most tender of fingertips along his cheek. "Do you?"

"No," he replies just as quietly, opening his eyes once more because he can't bear not to look at her, "but..."

"But what?"

"We shouldn't be doing this, especially not so soon. This is going far too fast, I barely know you... and I wouldn't know how to do anything like this."

"Like what?" she asks with confusion.

Gold shakes his head in frustration, having no idea whatsoever how to tell her that he wouldn't know how to make her feel good even if they could lie down properly – if he would have two healthy legs and a stronger body, at least – and he weren't half mad with desire for her.

Besides, even if he were actually able to physically please her, if only once, that doesn't change the fact that he's still a cynical, reclusive cripple twice her age on the verge of bankruptcy.

"I don't want to disappoint you, sweetheart," Gold ends up saying, looking at her with despair, willing her to understand. "I'm not... I'm not the man you deserve."

"You don't get to decide what I do or don't deserve. Besides, I don't think life works that way," Belle says firmly, never ceasing her light caresses. "Speaking for myself, I have no experience with this, with wanting someone so... spontaneously."

He groans none too quietly at those words, at the way she looks at him, her eyes still burning.

"Sleeping with you in your dressing room isn't exactly what I ever imaged myself doing, but I  _want_ to. For as far as I'm concerned, the only other thing that matters is whether you want to as well."

"Belle, I... I can't..." He gestures helplessly, not having the slightest idea what to say or do. It's alarming enough to be attracted so strongly to someone, let alone someone who has made clear in no uncertain terms that she desires him as well, but there's so much else to consider, and...

"Try to relax, and don't forget to keep breathing," she says gently, smiling encouragingly and inhaling pointedly as if to set the right example.

Gold only feels more like an idiot, but he breathes as she suggests, finding that he indeed calms down somewhat and can think somewhat more clearly.

"I do want you," he admits at length, yet more terrified of  _not_ keeping his feelings to himself than of not sharing them with her. "But I don't want to take the risk of ruining anything between us. Our cooperation, our friendship... it means so much to me, Belle. I don't want to lose it. I don't think I could bear it."

"What are you afraid of? Things probably won't be perfect, especially not at first, but I'm not expecting them to be. The way I see it, the chance that things between us might not work out isn't worth  _not_ exploring what we feel for each other. Besides, given what I've learned of you so far, I don't think you will 'ruin' anything at all."

Once more, all Gold can do is stare at her in ever increasing disbelief and hope... and nod wordlessly in response to her invitation.


	5. Chapter 5

" _Sweetheart_..." Gold breathes, awed and more hopeful than he has ever been because the impossibly lovely woman standing next to him just unambiguously stated that she wants to be with him.

"Besides, I don't think we can be friends," Belle adds meaningfully.

The hope that blossomed within him is crushed before he can consider just how wonderful it would be to  _try_ , for the two of them to give in to their desire for each other and make the best of what they feel for one another.

"I don't think we can  _just_ be friends," she corrects herself hastily, doubtlessly aware of the shock and disappointment on his face. "I mean, I wanted to jump you since we played together on the show."

Gold is speechless once more, but for a whole different reason this time.

"What about you?" she asks, with a hint of shyness so endearing that her question mostly goes by unnoticed.

"Huh?" he dumbly asks when she looks at him expectantly, most of his attention focused on those gorgeous blue eyes rather than on what she asks him.

"Did you want me after we performed in the show together?"

"I don't know what I wanted exactly," he admits, still lost just by looking at her face. "I wanted to work with you. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted you to hug me like you hugged Jefferson. I... I probably wanted more than all that, but I was afraid to acknowledge it. But when you just held me the way you did... well, you know what happened."

Gold is still chagrined to say the least that his body betrayed him the way it did, but he doesn't feel nearly as guilty or embarrassed by it any longer now that Belle looks at him with understanding and even gratitude. Indeed, perhaps his body has been braver than his mind, making its interest in her known in the only way it could at that moment.

"What do you want right now?" she whispers.

Her voice is husky, bringing his attention back to the way they're still being closely together as she sits on the table and he stands between her spread legs. She tightens the hold of her legs around his waist, the additional friction making undeniably clear that his body still only wants one thing. It also shows rather explicitly that she has a very specific idea about what she wants to do now.

"Let me... let me take you out," he says, only barely refraining from grinding helplessly against her. "Let me give you flowers and jewelry. Let's... let's have dinner together."

"Yes to all of that. But let's do that  _later_ , _"_ she says, the fire in her eyes setting him aflame as well. "What about  _right now_?"

"What are you saying?" he asks hoarsely, though he has a fairly good idea even before she runs one of her high heels along his upper thigh, leaving him gasping.

"Make love to me," she whispers, her determination to slake her desire for him leaving him practically whimpering. "Right here, right now."

And then her lips are on his again. All his insecurities and doubts are gone when she kisses him hungrily, giving him courage of a kind he never knew before. He isn't particularly self-conscious about the way he is groaning into her mouth as she scrapes her nails lightly over the nape of his neck and suckles on his lower lip, doesn't feel all that bad when he bucks against her instinctively as she pulls him yet more closely against her.

Gold does feel awful though when she reaches purposefully for his belt, her locked ankles behind his buttocks encouraging him at the same time to thrust against her, to mimic the very movements she intends for him to make once he's inside of her. He eagerly takes her hint, only to be cruelly reminded of his bad leg, which makes it downright impossible for him to find enough leverage to move against her properly.

"Belle," he mutters, breaking their kiss with great reluctance, "we can't do this here."

"Why not?" she asks throatily, her hands placed firmly on his sides, as if she never wants to let go of him. "I've got a condom in my bag."

"My ankle," he replies grimly. Never before has he wished more vehemently that his bad leg wouldn't be as useless as it is, even as he shivers in anticipation at the discovery of just how ready she is for this. "I... I won't be able to make love to you like this."

"Oh," she says, looking at him as if it's the first time she realizes that he's a cripple. "I didn't think of that! I'm so sorry."

She doesn't appear to be discouraged in the slightest however, much to his bewilderment. He doesn't need a frantic survey of the room to know that they don't have any actually suitable surface at their disposal.

"But luckily, there's always the floor," she adds, smiling once more.

"The floor?!" he echoes, not seeing that as an option at all.

"It's the best solution, I think," she says, raising an inquiring eyebrow, as if she doesn't see anything wrong with that idea.

"But..."

"I don't really see us going anywhere else in this state, do you?"

"No, but... sweetheart, I don't want to make love to you on a  _floor_."

"Because of your leg?" she asks with concern.

Despite himself, Gold imagines a variety of ways in which his useless ankle would hardly be a bother at all. Those images in his mind make it only more difficult to think straight.

"Not because of my leg," he replies, not understanding why she is so eager for their first time to be on the floor of a dressing room, as if she's anything less than the love of his life. "But I want you to be comfortable, to be somewhere  _nice_ , especially this first time. That's hardly possible here. I don't want that for you, but for  _us."_

"How about I make love to  _you_  on the floor?" she asks, dead serious despite the mischievous eagerness in her voice. "I'd  _really_ like to."

"Yes," he breathes. In his mind's eye, Belle is already on top of him, showing him pleasure he didn't know existed, his body keeping hers away from the coldness and hardness from the floor. " _Yes_."

She hops off the table, turning away from him briefly to get something from her bag... probably the condom she just mentioned. Swallowing with nervous anticipation, his throat awfully dry, Gold shrugs out of his already unbuttoned vest. He places the thick, warm fabric of his suit jacket right next to the table in front of the mirror and the chair next to it, figuring that that place is as good as any.

Other than that, he has no idea whatsoever what to do. He doesn't have a clue whether he's supposed to undress, whether he should already lie down, whether he is meant to...

"Let me continue that?" she asks, coming up behind him, reaching around him questioningly to unbutton his dress shirt.

"Yes," he manages to reply, shivering both in eagerness and nervousness at the prospect of being undressed by her. Much as he wants to go forward, to feel her bare skin against his, he isn't so far gone yet that he has forgotten that he's twice her age and that even three decades ago he wasn't much to look at.

But Belle doesn't seem to care, moving around him so she comes to stand right in front of him to undo the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, to struggle slightly with his cufflinks. His gaze goes from her face to her quivering fingers and back again, barely able to believe what he sees, what's happening between them.

Once she has helped him out of his dress shirt, his chest is covered by one final layer. He nods slightly at her inquiring gaze, letting her pull his damp cotton undershirt slowly over his head.

Gold suppresses the urge to close his eyes and cover his chest with his arms when his upper body is completely bare to her. Like he hoped based on their interaction so far, there's nothing but appreciation in her eyes, no matter how undeserved, when she drinks in the sight of him.

"Help me with this?" she asks eventually, gesturing at the hem of her dress.

That's how Gold ends up carefully taking the edge of the fabric between equally trembling fingers, pulling the dress over her head at her encouraging nod.

"Sweetheart..." He can only stare when she's standing right in front of him in nothing but her underwear and the loveliest of blushes. "So beautiful..."

When she crashes her lips against his, there is nothing easier than to pull her against his chest and respond to her kiss with equal vigor, their bodies melting together as their lips and tongues explore one another with no finesse whatsoever.

Bare skin against bare skin, the marginal portion of his being that isn't entirely swept away yet by her passion wonders how he could have been afraid of this, how he could have thought for only a moment that this could end in nothing but misery and humiliation.

"... want you so much," she mutters, only the most important part of her sentence audible in their urgency.

When her hands go to his waist to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers this time, his fingers assist her rather than to hold her back.

She has to step back slightly to give him the space to step out of the trousers which are pooling at his feet. He is only more confident when Belle unabashedly takes in the sight of him, and he allows himself to look at her in a similar fashion.

"Let's get more comfortable," she suggests, offering him her hand.

He takes it, happily letting her help him lie down on his jacket. Gold only realizes that he's still wearing his shoes and socks when she kneels down at his feet, but there's no embarrassment in either of them when she patiently unlaces his shoes and pulls them off his feet, taking off his socks as well with the same care.

While he lies down in nothing but his boxer shorts, Belle studies him with wide, hooded eyes, in a way that leaves no denying the way she appreciate the sight he provides. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, she shifts closer towards him, hesitating briefly when her knee brushes against his thigh. Sensing that this is unchartered territory for both of them, he's only more convinced that they'll make this work together.

He can practically  _see_  the moment she makes up her mind, when she moves one of her knees to the other side of his waist, settling herself on top of him. His heart all but comes to an abrupt stop when she slowly lowers himself onto him as he nods eagerly in response to her questioning look.

His heartbeat picks up considerably though when it fully dawns on him that the two of them are together like this with barely any clothes on, that they are going to  _make love_... and that he isn't nearly as anxious about any of it as he could have ever thought.

Grateful that she for the time being settled herself just above the part of him that's most insistently begging for her attention, Gold reaches for her with tentative hands, just when she does the same for him as well.

His own movements falter when she places her hand on his chest, but he couldn't care less that he isn't touching her hips yet when she runs her fingers along his torso.

No longer afraid to let her know just how much he enjoys her touch, Gold happily hisses and groans at each generous caress, each gentle scratch of her nails. His joy only increases further when his responses cause her broad smile to widen further.

After quite a while, he gets somewhat used to her touches, to the way each and every single one of them has jolts and sparks coursing throughout him. Regaining sufficient control over his arms, he eagerly reaches for her after all, settling his hands on her waist.

Laughing excitedly and slightly nervously, they share light, exploratory touches that have both of them moaning and grinning with delight. Under her guidance, his hands move higher and higher along her body, until he finds himself tentatively cupping her breasts in his hands.

Her enthusiasm – and indeed, her  _arousal –_  visibly increasing yet more when he touches her so intimately, his grasp becomes bolder, more confident. She shifts in response, moving herself a few inches downwards, until his groin is between her thighs and the sudden friction has him gasping.

Looking at her with wide eyes, his hips bucking instinctively, he finds that the pressure of his straining length against her yielding softness makes her groan in unmistakable pleasure rather than recoil in disgust.

Gold  _whimpers_ when she happily rocks the apex of her thighs over the epicenter of his arousal, far from deterred by his helpless reaction to her. If the continued presence of his hands on her chest didn't have her moaning wonderfully loudly with each and every single squeeze, his arms would probably have fallen uselessly to the floor, too overwhelmed by what's happening to maintain their divine hold on her breasts.

Just when he thinks that it can't possibly get any better than this, Belle stills her movements. Before he can panic, can presume that something has gone horribly wrong after all, she purposefully reaches behind her back.

For a long second he doesn't understand, but all air escapes his lungs when her mischievous smile informs him that she's going to take off her bra, that she's going to show him her breasts... that she might invite him to touch them without that last barrier in place.

Before she has removed the last fabric covering her chest however, there's a sudden disturbance in the hallway outside the dressing room.

"Gold, you miserable git, are you in here?" The sound of Jefferson's voice on the other side of the wall is undeniable, and so is his tone, which somehow is yet more manic than usual. "And have you seen Belle by any chance? I can't reach her either."

The door to the dressing room is thrown wide open without warning before it has fully registered in the addressed man's mind that the world is in fact not reduced to Belle and himself after all. Both of them shriek in shock and confusion when Jefferson appears on the threshold of the room that has become their no longer private haven.

The host's mouth falls open when he takes in the sight of them. Gold dreads to think how ridiculous they must look even without taking the difference in age and attractiveness between Belle and himself into account. Before Gold can think of anything to say to explain any of this, Jefferson bursts out laughing.

"Let me call you back," the other man practically giggles into that ever present phone of his.

Finally realizing that limiting Belle's discomfort as much as possible is more important than anything else, he intends to hand her her clothes. To his frustration, Gold finds that they are out of reach, just like they are currently lying down on the jacket he could have covered her with otherwise.

He manages to sit up and pull her against him instead, shielding both their chests from the chuckling man's view. It's a happy coincidence that this position also conceals the part of him that was most particularly pleased with the earlier proceedings. Then again, it's both a blessing and a curse that this new embrace brings them closer to one another than they've ever been before.

Luckily, Belle seems more bemused than horrified when Jefferson actually has to clutch at the door he burst through for support, almost doubling over with laughter.

"The two of you better name your first live tour, your first album  _and_ your first child after me," Jefferson says when he straightens himself again, wiping what appears to be actual tears from his eyes.

Belle makes a rather curious sound that he doesn't dare consider, but there's something in it that implies that she isn't immediately opposed to the notion of having a tour, a record and a  _child_ with him.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Gold grinds out, not allowing himself to think that Belle and he could have been making love right now if it weren't for the ever irritating man he has considered a friend for decades.

"Reminding you to actually take the grand opportunity I just gave you...  _both_ of you. You won't believe the sort of people who are asking about the two of you. Heck,  _I_ don't!"

"What are you talking about?" Gold sighs, once more barely able to think straight when Belle shivers and tightens her hold on him, seeking his warmth now that the heat that came over them earlier has all but vanished for the moment.

"That you two smitten fools are too caught up in each other to actually talk to these people!"

"I uhm... I did switch off my phone," Belle says, her sheepish look much more endearing to him than it probably should be.

"And it's not as if Gold even owns a mobile phone, or can pick up his rarely used land line while he's still here," Jefferson adds, his right eyebrow all but disappearing under the edge of the particularly ridiculous hat he's wearing tonight.

"I'm sure it can wait, for as far as I'm concerned," Gold says quietly, looking back at the woman in his arms, who is worth to him more than any fame or money.

The other man sighs dramatically, raising his hands in a gesture of apparent defeat.

"Didn't you hear a single word of what I just said? You've got  _no_ idea what the two of you set in motion tonight. You are going to get bigger than big, I can tell you that."

"I do think we should find out who has been trying to call us - don't you, Mr. Gold?"

Ignoring the way Jefferson chuckles once more because of the way Belle addresses him, Gold nods. Truthfully, he'd do nothing rather than to stay right here, with her and her alone – although, admittedly, it would be wonderful to have a bed at their disposal – but he knows what these phone calls mean to her.

"Mr. Jefferson, do you know whether these people have been asking about us, together? Like... partners?"

His breath catches in his throat due to her question, both because of the wonderful sound of the last word as such and because of the way she says it, hopeful and eager.

"Of course!" Jefferson cries out, beaming at them. "The beast can't be without his beauty, and vice versa."

"Speak plainly!" Gold growls impatiently, never having been less in the mood for the other man's perpetual riddles.

"What, didn't you  _hear?"_  he asks, all fake surprise.

"Didn't hear what?" Belle asks in response, sounding almost equally irritated.

"Oh wait, of course you didn't hear, since the two of you were far too busy getting  _acquainted_ ," Jefferson snickers. "Well, for some reason that's  _beyond_ baffling to me, people started calling you 'Beauty and the Beast' on social media. And don't worry, lovebirds. All of the producers I spoke to – on your behalf, I might add – were rather keen on getting the two of you as a package deal. Sounds like you won't be able to get rid of each other for the time being. You can thank me later!"

Looking at them triumphantly for one more moment, Jefferson turns on his heels, his attention back to his phone before he has firmly closed the door behind him, the latter much to Gold's relief.

Then again, now that the other man is gone it's suddenly awfully quiet in the room... which he shares with the still almost entirely undressed  _partner_ in his arms.

"The way I see it, we don't  _have_ to call anyone," she says quietly, reaching for him to caress his doubtlessly disheveled hair. "It can wait. I just want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, too," he says, trailing his palms reverently up and down her bare arms. "But if we can be in this together... I'd love that, Belle. And I... well, I admit that I don't think I'm brave enough to get close to making love to you twice in one night."

"I can't think of anything to say to that that isn't a bad innuendo," she smiles, lacing her arms around his neck.

Gold closes his eyes briefly, sighing happily, not allowing himself to wonder just yet how his life can possibly have improved so significantly in barely a few hours  time.

"We could check the missed calls on my phone and return those calls," Belle suggests. "I'd say that we have reason to... celebrate afterwards, no matter the outcome of those calls. We might even find a bed this time."

Her mischievous wink has him momentarily forgetting about their career prospects all over again.

"You know that nothing in those phone calls will change the way I feel about you, don't you?" she asks quietly.

"I know, although I won't pretend to understand it. And the same goes for me. Whatever offer we get, it can't possibly be more wonderful than sharing this with you... than  _being_ with you."

"Shall we go find out then what we appear to have missed?"

Belle stands up at his nod of approval, offering him her hand to help him get up as well. He gladly takes it, not feeling nearly as embarrassed by it as he could have imagined.

"Here's your dress," he says, feeling awkward in a whole different way when he picks the garment off the floor and hands it to the breathtaking woman.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll take it," she says, retrieving her phone from the pocket before reaching for his dress shirt instead. "If you don't mind..."

He can only shake his head to signify that he doesn't object, swallowing heavily when Belle slips into his dress shirt... and nothing more than that.

Gold puts his undershirt back on, takes his notebook and decides that trying to get back into his trousers in a somewhat dignified manner isn't worth the effort.

"Would you like to make the phone calls?" she asks, switching her device back on. "You can use my phone."

"I'd like you to do it, sweetheart. You're much better at it than I am. I can take notes."

"That's fine with me... although I must admit that I'm getting nervous at the prospect."

"There's no need. You'll do brilliantly."

" _We_ 'll do brilliantly. Together. It's a great idea to take notes, by the way. I hadn't thought of that. We can go through any offers we may get later on, when things have quieted down a little."

He nods in agreement, pointedly not thinking of the two of them leisurely reviewing their opportunities at a later point in time... entirely naked and equally sated.

They sit down on the seats they vacated earlier, pulling them as closely to each other as possible. When he opens his notebook, he finds himself looking at the last words he wrote in it... just like she does.

"What's that?" she asks, pointing at the page with  _The Ballad of Belle French_ written at the top.

"I... I am going to try to compose you a song," he admits, feeling rather foolish... or at least, until she crashes her mouth once more against his.

"I... I wanted to do that," Belle says when she withdraws eventually, as breathless as she made him once more. "Badly."

"I'm glad you did," he manages to reply, feeling not nearly as stupid as a moment ago.

"Are you really going to compose a song for me?" she asks, sounding as if that's the most wonderful thing someone has ever done for her.

"I'll definitely try."

"I'd love to hear it when it's finished."

"You will," he vows quietly, "and if you want to, you can hear every single note as I compose it."

"I'd love that as well," she breathes, leaning in to him again.

Kissing slowly and more tenderly than he thought anything could be, Gold knows that both of them are thinking of commitments to each other that go far beyond a partnership in music, or even what's happening between them tonight.

The kiss seems to go on for half an eternity, like a lifetime of love and music and  _together._ Even when they break away at last, they just keep sitting there, smiling at each other as their foreheads rest against one another.

"Let's be  _partners,_ " she whispers, gesturing at her phone with her right hand.

"Let's be partners," he agrees, reaching for the notebook with his left.

When Belle calls the first number, her left hand and his right find one another, entwining when their life together truly begins.


End file.
